Hope
by Sakrea
Summary: Ever since they'd been stranded on Cybertron, all of the Autobots had been loosing hope. Even Jazz. Jazz/Ratchet if you tilt your head and squint. Warnings: Spoilers for AHM.


This was my first second real attempt at fanfiction since getting into the Transformers fandom.

This was also a challenge given to me while I was attending Botcon.

Go easy on it, I was still new when I wrote it.

* * *

"What's the word from Ratchet?"

"Everything we have is being fed into Prime just to keep him alive and we're running out fast."

"If we lose him, Jazz… If the others knew about—"

"Well they _**don't**_, and we're going to _**keep**_ it that way."

A pause. Jazz cast a look at the closed door.

"Right now hope's about all we got."

The beep sounded so empty in the room. It symbolized life, yet it brought no comfort.

"You remember that old Earth saying?" came a gruff voice behind him. "A watched pot never boils. I think that applies here."

Jazz tore his optics off of the dark form of their leader to look back at the old medic.

"Staring at him isn't going to fix him." Ratchet said quietly.

"It's not hurting him either."

"It's hurting you." The medic insisted. He set a hand on Jazz's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You need to take your mind off of this."

Jazz shrugged off the hand, forcing himself to ignore how comforting the simple gesture had been. "I have to keep my mind on it. It's my duty."

"I've had to force Prime to take a break from his duties before."

Jazz turned away from the medic to look back at Prime's chest. It was a sight one would only see on a dead mech. His chest plates were torn open, wires flung everywhere, spark chamber ripped open enough to see the faint glow of his fading spark. The hatch where the Matrix had once rested lay empty and mangled.

"Get some rest." Ratchet tried again, grabbing his shoulder firmly this time. "Doctor's order."

This time, Jazz allowed himself to relax into against the hand. "Only a short break." He allowed. As soon as the words left his vocalizer though, he felt the hand shift off of his shoulder. It returned to press gently between his shoulder plates.

"I'm not sure I trust you." Ratchet told him, smiling slightly. It was something he had adapted recently, something they all had. It was the kind of smile that showed hardly any happiness, only weariness. "Let's go."

"Coming with me?" Jazz asked, returning with the same kind of smile.

"It's the only way to keep an optic on you."

Jazz allowed himself to be led away from Optimus's motionless form by only a hand on his back. He realized quickly that Ratchet was pushing him toward the little balcony that hung out over their hideout.

The balcony was quickly becoming one of his favorite spots in the dreary building. It seemed to always be the best place to find him when he was finished with whatever duties this meager leadership position allowed him.

He broke away from the hand to step forward and take his usual position, arms crossed over the railing, body weight pressed forward. He felt Ratchet settle into the spot next to him.

"You're always out here, just staring into the distance." Ratchet noted.

"Not staring, thinking." He corrected.

"About what?"

Jazz vented heavily. "This entire situation. Are we going to make it through this? Have we already lost?" he paused momentarily. "Sometimes I wonder what there's left to hope for."

"There's everything left to hope for. You should know that better than anyone."

"Just because I preach it, doesn't mean I don't question it."

"The war's far from over."

Jazz wasn't convinced by the response. As much as he tried not to think about it, the war seemed pretty damn over to him. The Autobots were hiding on their husk of a planet, their leader was nearly at Primus's door, and the mechs that had once been close comrades were about to start ripping each other to bits.

Jazz was given several kliks to brood in silence before Ratchet attempted conversation again.

"Now, more than ever, we need to keep hoping."

"It's hard to hope when there's nothing left to hope for, Ratch."

The medic gave him what looked like a sly grin and angled a bit toward him. "Really?"

Jazz decided to bite. He gave Ratchet a critical stare from beneath his visor. "So what are you hoping for then?"

The medic gave him a grin that was uncharacteristic to their situation. It was… Normal.

"It's a lot easier to have hope when it doesn't have much to do with the situation."

Jazz's face remained neutral. "You're not making sense."

"You're right. This situation is fairly hopeless." The medic said after a moment, turning once more to stare out over the expanse of the dead planet. "My hope lies in a certain mech."

"A mech?"

"Right." Ratchet replied, wearing that small, weary smile again. "Known him for a long time, but haven't been able to do much more than push him along when he needs it."

Jazz noticed in passing that his curiosity was now overriding much of the worn out feeling he'd had before. "Does he know you're watching over him?"

"Nope. Doesn't need my help very often."

"Then what's there to hope for with him?"

"Even if he never figures out what he means to me, I can still hope to see him in his prime again."

Jazz eyed the medic, optics narrowed behind his visor. He hadn't quite realized that was what he had meant. "Who is it?"

The medic snorted and pushed off of the balcony. "Wouldn't you like to know."

* * *

This does have a sequel.

It's titled "Hints."

Because the setting is fairly different, it will be placed in a separate story.


End file.
